


Why Billy Idol Always Wears a Cross

by Muffie



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, semi-RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-23
Updated: 2011-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-01 16:25:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muffie/pseuds/Muffie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's been called a Billy Idol Wannabe for far too long. Now, he's got the opportunity to get what's owed him. And take his boy out for some fun, as well. And get up the Cheerleader's nose while he was at it. And maybe kit his boy out in leather. Spike is the vamp with a plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Billy Idol Always Wears a Cross

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Chosen in a shiny AU of Angel the Series L.A.
> 
> ~ * ~
> 
> I find real-person fic creepy, but Billy Idol's participation is not only necessary, but hopefully not something the reasonable person would find offensive if they were put in Billy Idol's place in the fic. Well, mostly. 

The concert wasn't until the day after tomorrow, but some hopped up nancy boys were holding a do in some posh mansion in the Beverly Hills area and that bloody twat was supposed to put in an appearance. Only reason he'd heard about it was that sodding cheerleader's caterwauling about her invite, even if her name was _and guest_ on it. She wasn't going to meet the _original_ , as she claimed. She was bloody well looking at him!

Spike sneered.

"Cheap knock off of the original," Cordy said primly. "Try harder, wannabe."

"The only knock off around here, _Princess_ , is you. Gotten any work in commercials again?"

Cordy slammed her magazine down. "Back off."

He tossed her a two finger salute and she sneered at him. He lit up a cigarette and blew smoke in her direction. She pulled a stinky perfumed paper sample from the magazine and waved it in his direction.

"Enough!" Angel yelled. "Spike, leave Cordy alone."

Cordy smirked.

"Cordy, leave Spike alone."

Spike rolled his eyes, then rolled to his feet. "I'm off."

That tosser owed him and he planned to collect. He smirked at the cheerleader before striding out of the poof's old hotel. Time to make some plans and then collect his boy.

***

They almost hadn't gone. His boy had come home from work, smelling like sawdust and sunshine. He loved the danger of doing a bloke covered in wood. Xander thought it was cute and sometimes indulged him. The splinters he occasionally picked up only added a sweet bit of pain to the shag. His boy had gotten to the point where he didn't panic at a bit of smoke coming out of him now and again, when they went at it in the wood shavings with some unfortunate cross-like configurations. Not that it happened often. Boy hated wood bits in naughty places.

But, he manfully held off the temptation of his boy in the shower, and his boy getting dressed, and his boy getting redressed in the togs he picked out. His eyes glazed a bit at his boy in leather. Nummy treat, indeed. He parked in the hopped up nancy boy's lawn and grinned at Xander.

Xander wasn't grinning back. He had the stubborn mule look on his face. "Uh-huh. No. Not even. Cordy will make me wish you'd killed me in high school! No!"

Spike sneered. "Not here for the cheerleader. Ponce in there owes me and I come to collect."

His boy's eye narrowed suspiciously. "You don't know anyone in the Hills."

Spike smirked.

The suspicious eye started looking a bit more uncertain. "You don't, do you?" His boy peered up at the mansion. "Oh, God. It's full of demons, isn't it? If Dracula's there, I'm going to throttle you. Oh, I know it won't do any good, breathing-challenged, but it'll make me feel better."

"Oh, it's not that gypsy bugger. Someone else. C'mon."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I am not crashing a party. No. Never again. Frats and bras of humiliation and never, _ever_ again."

Well, this wouldn't work. "We're invited."

"Show me the invitation."

Bloody frustrating little— "What if one of those blokes guarding the door came down and invited us personally?"

Xander sneered, which looked rather like a kitten sneering at a toy mousie. "That'll happen."

" _When_ it does?"

"Then I'll come to the party with you."

"Back in a flash!" Spike was out of the door before his boy could start his white-hat prig babble. Consciences. Bah.

"Spike! Dammit! Stupid vampires and their stupid party crashing ways. I so did not want to go to jail tonight."

Spike snuck into the back garden area, where the catering crew and other stiffs had set up. One of the waitresses saw him and squealed. "Oh my god! He's here! You're here!"

He sneered. "Not quite, luv." He gestured at the threshold into the screened in portion of the patio hooked to the house proper. "Like a vampire, me. Gonna invite me in?"

She looked nonplussed for a moment. "Uh, I don't think I'm supposed to invite people in, even if it is _you_."

"'S a surprise for the big boss." He winked and smirked.

She giggled. Idiot happy meal. Thicker than Harmony. He should eat her. After.

"Okay, since it's _you_. Come in." She giggled again.

He stepped across the threshold, into the patio, and suitably close enough to make her giggle yet _again_ , but not close enough to actually be intimate with her. "Don't mind if I do, luv."

"Can I have your autograph?"

He winked. "Check with me after."

"Oooh, you're going to sing?"

"Might. Best get, luv. You've got toffs to wait on and I'm off."

"All right. Hey, my name is Tif—"

"Drinks, luv."

"--fany. I'll be here all night, okay?"

"Okay." Bloody stupid girl. He slipped into the house before he had to brush her off. _Again._

He kept to the shadows, little as there were in the place packed with happy meals. One trukla demoness in the room with a big screen TV that would look perfect on his wall. A succubus wiggled her fingers at him as he passed by. He quirked a lip and headed for the sound of the only Brits in the place besides himself. Turned out to be a study.

He slipped in, silent as a vamp. The twat's back was to him, and he was sipping on water. Luckily, the twat's hairdresser had his back to Spike, too. They were both looking in a mirror and chatting. Spike sneered. It was as if Angelus had done up Spike's hair. Horrid. Spike sidled up behind both of them, noted the crosses on chains around both their necks. Huh, might of stopped him years ago, when he was stupid. He snatched the chain off the hair dresser's neck, tossing it and the cross away. The chain around the twat's neck was too heavy to break without maiming the twat, which would never do, but it did make the twat urk and jerk back in the chair. 

Spike eased around the chair and plucked the gothic cross from the twat's chest. Smoke rose from his palm. The twat's eyes bugged in terror. 

"Think these trinkets'll keep me away, boy?"

"Oh God," the hairdresser moaned.

"Recognize me, boy?"

"Yes." The twat attempted a sneer, but it failed. "Bromley. Coat's new, isn't it?"

"Oh my yes, Billy boy. You planning on stealing it, too?" Spike grinned, his mouth full of fangs. "Got it off a Slayer in 77. Sweet kill that one was."

The twat swallowed.

Spike dropped the cross and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm a bit tired of being called a _Billy Idol wannabe_ or _poseur_. Who's the poseur, boy?"

The twat swallowed again. "It's a good look."

Spike snatched the cross again, using it to jerk the twat's face up to his.

"I'm the—"

"Good." Spike dropped him back his chair. "Now, way I figure it, you owe me for all these years of pain, suffering, and poncing around, pretending you're me."

"I'm not—"

"Yes. You do. I'm here to collect."

"Co-coll—" What was left of the color drained from the twat's face.

"First, you'll send your minion there out front to collect my boy. He's a bloody white hat, you know how these goody-goodies are. Won't crash a party, even a boring do like this one."

"Boy?"

"Your minion will find my boy in the black Desoto. Can't miss it." Spike smirked. "Me and my boy will be your very special guests at this little soiree."

"Okay. That can be—"

"Second, you're going to sing a song for my boy. From me to my boy. Got it?"

"Sing?"

Spike sneered. "You're such a bloody pop star. Singing those poncy songs. What happened to you? Johnny Rotten, man! Get back to your roots."

"Uh, what do you want me to sing?"

Spike crossed his arms and considered it. "My boy doesn't much care for the classics. Let me think on it."

"Okay. I can do that. Party. Sing."

"Third. You'll tell the bloody cheerleader where you stole your look from. Shut that harpy up."

The twat frowned. "Cheerleader?"

"Harpy's name is Cordelia. Find her _after_ you sing the song to my boy. Don't want to hear the shrieking."

"Party, sing, cheerleader?"

"That'll do, mate." Spike grinned. "I know just the song. My boy likes romantic music."

"And you won't eat me, anyone?"

Spike glared at him. "Do I look like a tame housevamp?"

"No! No, you don't."

"Right then. Hop to!"

***

Xander hadn't followed the minion into the house until the minion had fetched one of the bully boys at the door to invite him. The bully boy had kicked up a bit of guff over the park job, but the minion had diffused it. Good for the minion. His boy wandered around the party like a cat in a roomful of pitbulls. Mostly appeared to be avoiding the cheerleader.

When it was time, the twat took his guitar and climbed onto a stool near the pool. Spike slipped up behind Xander and wrapped his arms around his boy's waist.

"Spike!" Xander hissed. "How, what? How did you get us in here?"

"Ssh, love."

The twat finished bantering with the audience and then looked up. He caught Spike's eye. Spike jerked his head a bit, enough to point out his boy.

"I'd like to sing a song for a fr—, no, let's call him an inspiration of mine. The bleach blond hair, the sneer, the attitude, the clothes, all of it was inspired by an infamous man back in the mother country, William the Bloody. Goes by Spike these days." The twat gave him a sneer and two fingered salute. Bloody twat. "He wanted something romantic for his boy." The twat grinned. "Considering he's a Johnny Rotten fan, he's got an interesting idea of romance. Xander, from Spike."

The twat's minion flicked a button on the sound system, launching into Rebel Yell.

From across the room, the harpy cheerleader had managed to collect herself enough to squeal out a frustrated "Spike!"

Spike didn't care. He wrapped himself up in his boy's arms and slow danced.

"I am," Xander cleared his throat. "I'm incredibly embarrassed now."

Spike leaned into his boy.

"And, damn, this is way beyond sweet. You're the best boyfriend ever. In like, ever. Even better than Oz or Tara or other good boyfriend type people."

Spike shushed him with a kiss. "I mean it, Xan. I'd sell my soul for you."

"Well don't. I like you just the way you are."

"So, this mean that you'll cry more in the midnight hour?"

"Leaving the lyricing to Billy Idol, please."

Spike laughed and let the look-stealing ponce sing.


End file.
